


After Grief

by Maisie_top_trash



Series: Unseen - Fear Will Lose [31]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anger, Anxiety, Depression, Grief, Isolation, Loss, M/M, Mental Illness, Mourning, OCD, Panic Attacks, Schizoaffective Disorder, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maisie_top_trash/pseuds/Maisie_top_trash
Summary: Unseen Fear Will Lose is a series of single chapter stories showing unseen scenes from the same universe as my main story, Fear Will Lose. In order to fully enjoy these extra bits, I recommend you go and read that first.Fear Will LoseAfter Josh's death, after Tyler's (latest) breakdown, after his transition stages and after his eventual discharge, Tyler is stuck in a period of nothingness. He does nothing, he feels nothing, he is nothing.





	After Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Don't say I don't spoil you guys, another update! Xx

"It's like," he paused, letting his mind flip through reels upon reels of vocabulary, desperately scouring for any sort of word that could somehow communicate, convey, what it is he truly felt. Maybe it was, no, wait what if, no,

"Yes Tyler?" Sid encouraged him from his seat on the other side of the circle, leaning forwards as if he was genuinely interested in what Tyler had to say. He knew nobody else was, he knew nobody else dared seek validation, nay, hope, from another human being ever again.

But nevertheless he was determined to give his description justice, digging deeper into the inflamed skin on his left palm with his nails as he dug deeper into the vault of language. There must be some means of display, anything, something he'd read, something he'd heard, something he'd thought. Anything.

"It's like I'm a guest,"  
"Okay, can you expand on that Tyler?" Sid used his name with purpose, asserting that he knew who he was and he cared who he was and he wanted to know he really was deep within.  
"When you visit somewhere and they say, make yourself at home, but they mean assimilate yourself with our way of existence please."  
"Go on,"

"They say that it's my home too, relax, but the words are nothing but words. I am a guest, in my home I would put my feet on the counter, but I am a guest. I am a guest, at home I would throw my laundry downstairs, but I am a guest. I am a guest, at home I would be able to feel comfortable, but no, I am a guest."  
"A guest where Tyler?"  
"In this life."  
"You were born into it, it's all you've ever known, if you're truly a guest then how do you know what it feels like to be at home?" Sid asked curiously whilst the others picked at loose threads and avoided eye contact.  
"My husband made me feel at home, when I was with him, I was at home. And now he's gone, and with him died my comfort."

"Okay can anyone else relate to Tyler? Feel the same way? Or have anything to say in response?" Sid opened it up to the group, clearly unable to come up with a solution so leaning on the other 7 bereaved spouses or parents in the room. Nobody so much as registered the question, and Tyler knew that no response would change reality. Still, occasionally he craved some sort of agreeing hum to reassure him that he wasn't talking complete bollocks, but today wasn't his lucky day.

"Tyler, we're not done." Sid said when he started putting his jacket back on.  
"I am."  
"No, we wait until everybody has been given the opportunity to speak before we conclude each week."  
"Why?"  
"Why? Because it's polite Tyler."  
"Why should I be expected to soothe their minds when they won't so much as throw a glance my way?" He asked standing up and heading towards the door, unsurprisingly, none of the others reacted in the slightest.

"See you next week Tyler," Sid called after him as he leant against the wooden door.  
"See you next week Sid." He called back nonchalantly, walking straight across the lobby towards the exit of the community centre, not waiting for his mom to join him and instead forcing her to hurry along behind to catch up.

"Tyler, Ty, Ty baby what happened?"  
"Nothing happened Mother."  
"Why did you leave so early then? 7 minutes this week. We agreed you'd try 20."  
"I stayed as long as needed." He looked straight ahead.  
"You need - stop walking so fast - you need to start embracing the group therapy Tyler, letting it actually help you rather than treating it like it means nothing."  
"It does mean nothing." Tyler opened the passenger door of his mom's care and climbed in, slamming it shut and staring forwards, not bothering to adjust the radio or the air con or the window, simply sitting.

"So why do I bother bringing you every week?" Mom climbed into the driver seat and asked him, not starting the engine.  
"Indeed." He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

"I'm not saying it's going to fix everything, I just, please Ty, you have to give it a go? A proper go?"  
"I don't have to do anything, Mother."  
"Oh stop calling me Mother Tyler Dun-Joseph, call me mom." She flicked the ignition bitterly.  
"Or what?"  
"Stop this Tyler."  
"Or what?" He challenged her again as they pulled out of the parking lot.  
  
"You're numb."  
"I'm not."  
"You are numb." She shook her head with an angry laugh of disbelief.  
"I am not."

"Oh for fuck sake Mother, again?!" Tyler exclaimed when she took the second exit instead of the first. The second exit, towards the cemetery.  
"You need to do this."  
"How many fucking times?! I have seen his fucking grave. I have seen his fucking grave 2 times this week already. You have dragged me there so many fucking times, what the fuck do you expect me to do?!"  
"React Tyler! Have a reaction! You're in denial."  
"My husband is dead, there."  
"That's not processing, that's not a reaction."  
"I processed, I reacted! Mother I had a fucking psychotic breakdown and I lived in hospital for 14 fucking months! How much more of a fucking reaction do you want?!"

"You're numb." She whispered.  
"Of course I'm fucking numb! I can't feel! Because guess what, if I feel, bye bye society, bye bye stability, bye bye any sort of existence that doesn't involve 28 fucking pills daily and hourly fucking restraints! You can't have both Mother! Either I'm numb or I'm fucking gone!"

 

 

  
Tyler had to let himself into the house because him mother needed, quote, a moment. Aka she was going to cry in the car again and quite frankly he was more than happy to leave her to it. She had her coping methods, he had his.

"Oh you're home early kiddo," Dad looked up from his newspaper as Tyler went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.  
"Yep, Mother decided to bail on the cemetery method this week."  
"Ah. Where is she?"  
"Sobbing in the car." He spooned instant coffee into a generic white mug.  
"Because?"  
"Because she has a mentally ill son who married a guy who thought it would be a clever idea to drive down Fosse hill during a rainstorm."  
"Okay." Dad didn't bother replying with a serious answer. He never did anymore. That was his coping method.

"Oh, whilst you were at your club-"  
"My bereavement group therapy,"  
"Yeah, that, Ryan called, Ryan from the hospital."  
"I know who he is, what did he want?" Tyler sighed as the kettle started to boil.  
"To check in, said you haven't been responding to his emails?"  
"My Mac's broken."  
"That's a lie."  
"Sue me." He shrugged as he poured the boiling water carelessly.

"Anyway, he wanted to check in and see how you are coping, I told him that we have some concerns so he's offering to come round tomorrow morning for a chat, however he's awaiting confirmation from you, so you need to call him, okay?"  
"I don't ne-"  
"I know I know, you don't need to do anything, I know Tyler, it's your bloody catch phrase at the moment, but maybe you could spice things up today and actually pull your head out the sand and see you're hurting people by not doing your best to be your best. This phone call is about more than just you."  
"Oh yeah, because trying to get better for someone else worked out sooo well for me in the past." He gave his dad an overly sarcastic thumbs up then took his coffee and started heading up to his room.

"Tyler, Tyler! Tyler Robert Dun-Joseph."  
"Father, if you're about to use the, 'what would Josh say?' method, then quite frankly you can go fuck yourself." He smiled from the bottom of the stairs, then turned and climbed them.

 

 

Before Josh died, Tyler's room at his parents house had cream walls. They'd been painted many times. So many fresh starts. When they first bought the house because Tyler needed a fresh start in attempt to break his teenage nightly panic attack pattern, the walls were pink. He painted the walls navy. When he got discharged from ICU after Bill attacked him, and Josh moved in, they both needed a fresh start. They painted the walls pale yellow. When he came home from Cygnet after his breakdown, he needed a fresh start. He painted the walls cream.

They stayed cream throughout his marriage, he didn't need a fresh start when he had his Josh, but when he came home after Josh died, he needed more than one attempt at a fresh start. First the walls went eggshell, then a month later beige, then a week later maroon, then another week later grey. And now, now they were black.

The twin beds that had been so iconic in their relationship were gone, just like Josh, and replaced with a lone double mattress on the floor. Originally he had attempted to keep the twins, using the excuse that his mom could stay if he was struggling, but in reality it only made it worse because it wasn't meant for her it was meant for him.

Trying to convince his parents to get him a double bed resulted in, surprise surprise, mother crying and insisting that he was in denial. He didn't bother asking twice, and instead decided to do it himself, after all he was more than capable. Only problem was that beds were fucking expensive and he hasn't been to work in half a decade, so had bought a mattress with plans to get the rest later. That was 19 weeks ago.

He'd deconstructed the twin beds with an allen key and one corner of the black room was piled high with metal frame pieces that realistically Tyler would never deal with, not because he was attached but because he was lazy. Everything's too much effort lately.

"Tyler?" A timid voice said from the door but he didn't bother looking up, instead scrolling through Twitter but focusing on his own miserable reflection on the screen of his phone.

"Ty, can we talk?" Mother let herself in without permission and took one of the old single mattresses propped up against the wall and laid it down next to him, perching on the edge, close to him.  
"Seems you're very capable Mother, you never seem to shut up."  
"A conversation then?"  
"Let me save your breath. No I haven't called Ryan, yes I have taken my meds, no I haven't eaten anything today, and yes, I am going out tonight."  
"Ty," she sighed and so did he because he was sick and tired of the same old shit day in day out.

"Wh-why are you being like this baby?"  
"Like what Mother?"  
"Calling me Mother for a start!" She exclaimed. "I don't know Ty, like this, like, like not yourself."  
"Who am I then?" He sat up and glared at her.  
"I don't know anymore."

"Let me rephrase, help you out a bit, who do you want me to be? Huh? HUH!"  
"I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY TYLER!"  
"There's no such fucking thing as a happy Tyler. Either you've got your hospitalised compulsive hallucinating son, your numb asshole son, or your dead son. Your choice."  
"That's not true Ty, that's not true, you've got so much potential to be happy, you've done it before," she wiped away familiar tears.  
"Wrong. I was happy, I was. But guess what Mother? It wasn't because of the fucking meds or the fucking therapy or any of that fucking bullshit, it was because of him! Him! And he is dead!"

Tyler let out the bitter taste in his mouth with a disappointment scoff as Kelly choked on a sob, covering her face with her hand for a second as Tyler picked his phone back up and laid down on his mattress.

"You can leave now Mother."  
"Tyler this is my house."  
"I'll move out then."  
"And go where?"  
"Anywhere."  
"You think your siblings will take you in? Think they'll want to be responsible for you when you're acting so irrational-"  
"IRRATIONAL IS EXPECTING ME TO BE HAPPY WHEN MY HUSBAND IS DEAD!" Tyler suddenly screamed at her with fire in his belly and she sobbed for a few seconds then ran out of the room, leaving him in peace.

Twitter was even more boring than usual, so he dropped his phone 3 inches down onto the floor then sighed again and tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. It was still white. Tomorrow he'd paint it black.

 

 

 

"You know you're not meant to go in there." Dad said as he walked past Tyler scrolling the dials on the padlock of the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.  
"Don't want me in here then don't use Josh's birthday as the code." He opened the cupboard and pulled out 4 orange tubes down onto the counter.  
"Not my idea, that one's your mother's." Dad took out a bowl and a box of muesli. "Oh, and she wants you to stop calling her Mother by the way."  
"And I wanna move out."  
"Not gonna happen kiddo."  
"Well tell Mother that her thing ain't happening either then."

Tyler opened each tube individually and took 2 from each then knocked them back. He wasn't supposed to have them all at once, some were meant at lunch, but he couldn't be bothered to come all the way back down to the kitchen in 3 hours time, so figured it was better early than never.

"Ryan's gonna be here soon."  
"He's what?"  
"You heard." Dad sat at the table with his milk bottle and his bowl.  
"Fucking Hell Dad I don't want to talk to him! Why are you both so fucking insistent on making me miserable!"  
"Seriously? Tyler I understand you're grieving but so are we, okay? Josh was like a son to me. This is hard for me. He was like a best friend to Mom. This is hard for her. But we do our best to do what's best for you, and a little nod of appreciation would cost you nothing but mean everything to us."

"Here's my issue with that, Dad." Tyler emphasised the last word sourly. "You think you're helping me. I say you're torturing me."  
"What do you suggest we do then?"  
"Let me have my own place."  
"And then what? Call in every couple of days to see how many times you've tried to slit your own wrists?"  
"I'm not FUCKING SUICIDAL!"  
"Really? Because you don't seem that awfully fond of living."  
"YOU MAKE MY LIFE HELL!"  
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT HE DIED!" Dad shouted back before gathering himself again, leaving even Tyler ever so slightly taken a back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice. I am sorry."  
"You're right, it's not your fault, it's his own. Fucking idiot."  
"Tyler."  
"No! No! He was a fucking idiot Dad! That's what you're saying, right? Right!"  
"Of course it's n-"  
"Well it's the truth! He was the fucking idiot who drove a fucking Camaro with bald fucking tires down the hairpin bends of the steepest fucking hill in Columbus during a fucking storm! How much more fucking stupid can you get?!"  
"Have some respect Dun-Joseph." He used Josh's name to hurt him. Ironic.

"Respect? Respect? Well why don't you respect my wishes?"  
"Why don't you respect mine?" Dad argued back, but Tyler could barely scoff before Mom joined them.

"Morning baby, morning love,"  
"Morning." Dad smiled back.  
"Mother, to what extent do you agree with the following statement."  
"Are you not even gonna say good morning to her?"  
"Father thinks that my husband's death was his own fault because he, Josh, was a fucking idiot."  
"That's not what I said."  
"Ty it's too early to start this." She sighed.  
"It's too early to talk to your son?"  
"No, Ty, it's too early to start arguing. Please, sweetheart, please, just sit and have breakfast with us? Then after that I'll answer as many questions as you want."

Tyler was about to trudge back upstairs to his bedroom to waste away another day, when suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. He had planned to ignore it but suddenly heard a little voice.  
"Dirty dirty dirty dirty."

"SEE WHAT YOU'VE FUCKING DONE!" He span and screamed at his parents.  
"It's just Ryan, want me answer it?"  
"NOT HIM! THIS!" Tyler screamed again, jabbing his finger into his temple.  
"What, did you hear something? Is someone here that we can't see?" Dad asked whilst Mom stood up, initially to go to the door but pausing near him with a look of concern on her face.  
"FUCK!"  
"Baby?"  
"ANSWER THE FUCKING DOOR!" He scared her into submission and she hurried away whilst he went over to the kitchen wall and leant against it, forehead against the old wallpaper and teeth gritted.

"Tyler, you need to calm down, okay? Just breathe." Dad said, still sat down.  
"I am fine! I am fine I am fine I am fine! It's you and Mom who are constantly unsettling me! If you just leave me the fuck alone! Let me live alone! Then I would be fine!"

"Buongiorno Joseph-Dun-Joseph clan, how are we on this fine Thursday morning?" Ryan walked in with a grin, unaware of the tension in the room.  
"Ryan, good to see you," Dad stood and shook his hand.  
"You too Chris, you too. Tyler my man, how's life treating you? Wanna go somewhere and have a quick chat?"  
"No."  
"Baby don't be rude, Ryan drove all this way,"  
"I never fucking asked him too."  
"No but I did because I'm worried about you. Please baby, for the love of God, let someone help."  
"Alright come on then Ryan, come on, help me, fix me, make everything better, fix me, fix me, FIX ME!" Tyler found his anger flow again, tapped into it and spat in the nurse's face.

"Chris, Kel, can we have a moment?"  
"Take as long as you need." Mom and Dad left the room and closed the door after them.

"You wanna come back to Campbell with me?" Ryan helped himself to a seat at the table and pushed out one for Tyler with his foot. He sat.  
"No."  
"No? Not even for a couple of days respite? I can sort that."  
"I said no."  
"Okay, well let's try and figure out a way for you to stay at home then,"  
"I'm fine, just fuck off?"  
"Convincing." He raised his eyebrows doubtfully whilst dumping his unprofessional backpack on the table and then pulling out a notebook and a pen, rereading something already recorded.

"Whatcha been ignoring me for bud? I've been chasing you for a while trying to get any kind of response."  
"I just want to be left alone."  
"Alone with your thoughts?"  
"Yes."  
"And are they your own? Or has illness been pulling some strings and warping them at all?"  
"How the fuck should I know?"

"Compulsions?"  
"No."  
"Hallucinations?"  
"No."  
"Obsessions?"  
"No."  
"Anxieties?"  
"Fuck sake, no no no NO!" He was sick of Ryan's stupid questions and starting chewing in the side of his thumb angrily, not caring when he tasted copper.  
"I'm gonna go right ahead and tick that anger box then." Ryan noted it down.

"You're super self aware, we both know that, and I am fairly certain that you know what's going on at the moment. Care to enlighten me?"  
"Oh I'll tell you exactly what the fuck is going on. Everyone is so fucking desperate for me to be eeexactly the same as I was when I was married, forgetting the simple fucking fact that I'm not married! I'm widowed! My husband is dead! I will never be happily married because he is nothing but a rotting pile of bones underneath a shit ton of soil."

"Is that all he is to you now? A rotting pile of bones?" Ryan leant back in his chair and looked at him.  
"Yes. That's why I said it."  
"Nothing more?"  
"No."  
"And how about memories? The past? Your history? Where does that come into it?"  
"Doesn't."  
"Not even a little bit?"  
"No."

"Do you have any pictures of him Tyler?"  
"No."  
"What happened to the ones you did have? Did you throw them out?"  
"Attempted. Mother went through the trash like a fucking stalker."  
"Where are they then?"  
"No fucking clue."  
"I call bullshit. Where are they?" The nurse asked.  
"Who fucking cares?!"  
"I do."

"Top drawer?" Ryan noticed the quick glance Tyler's eyes involuntarily made over towards the cabinet underneath the TV. Stupid fucking mistake.

"Ah here we go." He smiled as he pulled out an envelope and checked to see that they really were photos of the couple. "Oh perfect." He fished out a roll of tape too.  
"The fuck are you doing Ryan? Put them back and fuck off."  
"Nah, I'm gonna go see if I can remember where your bedroom is, coming?"  
"Ryan."  
"Tyler you're either coming with me or I'm going by myself." He opened the kitchen door and walked out, and momentarily Tyler considered just staying where he was, but eventually groaned and trudged after him, making sure to stomp his feet on each step of the staircase.

"Yeh this looks like the room of someone who's in a good mental place." Ryan pushed his door open to reveal the mattress in the centre and the disassembled beds in the corner.  
"Get the fuck out of my house." Tyler walked past him, attempting to grab the brown envelope of photos from his hand but losing his grip and causing 3 dozen photos to burst free and float down onto the carpet, some upside down but mostly the right way. Tyler caught sight of one and immediately squeezed his eyes shut and sat on his mattress, sheltering his face and trying to process everything.

"Do you have a favourite?" Ryan asked but he ignored him. "Oh I like this one. Aw you're both such babies here bless you. I was there when you took that photo, it was your first ever Campbell discharge day, aw how time flies. Ah, okay, new favourite, I'm going for this one."

Tyler only uncovered his face when he heard the sound of the tape being ripped from the roll, and caught Ryan sticking a photo directly onto his completely plain black wall. Shit. It was a fucking sentimental photo as well.

"When was that taken?" He dropped the tape on the floor once he was done, then joined Tyler on the edge of the mattress, his legs outstretched but Tyler's folded close to his chest. He shrugged. "I know you know."  
"Course I fucking know."  
"Tyler,"  
"It, uh," he contemplated revealing the truth for a minute, looking back up at the photo now taped up.

They were 25 years old, engaged, planning the wedding, and utterly in love with each other. It was Christmas Eve, his mom had been hosting, Josh and Tyler wore matching woollen Christmas waist coats, it was late in the evening and Tyler had been tired. The photo was taken on the couch and Tyler was asleep, nestled into the nook of Josh's neck, blissfully unaware of the soft and protective way that his husband was looking at him, blissfully unaware of his mother taking a photograph to preserve the memory forever.

"Christmas 2013."  
"You look younger than that, seems longer than 5 6 years,"  
"Grief aged me." He sighed, laying down properly and staring at the ceiling. Don't think. Don't think. Don't think.

"Will you do me a favour? Keep that up there? At least for a few days?"  
"Why?"  
"Because I'm asking, as a friend and as a professional."  
"No."  
"Why not?"  
"Because it's fucking stupid."  
"It's not stupid, it's your husband."  
"I don't have a husband." Tyler said to the ceiling.

"What's Josh then?"  
"Dead."  
"My Nan's dead, she's still my nan."  
"Don't compare spouse to grandparent."  
"Alright, but you have to tell me the real reason you don't want a photo of him up."  
"Isn't it obvious?"  
"Say it."  
"Because," he started but froze again.  
"Say it Ty."  
"Because it's fucking triggering, alright? Him constantly being there for me to look at is going to be upsetting and then I'm going to get hysterical and then I'm going to get sick and then everything turns to shit all over again!"

"Do you think, and I'm genuinely interested in your answer, do you think that getting upset is a bad thing?"  
"Yes."  
"Why is that Tyler?"  
"I already said! I get sick!"  
"Every single time?"  
"Well, y-, not, not every time." He foolishly lost his air of confidence.  
"But often enough to scare you off letting yourself get upset?" Ryan thankfully didn't exploit his fumble, instead helping him to find the words.  
"Yeh,"

"So the whole concept of getting upset, not necessarily including side effects, that's okay with you? Like showing emotions?"  
"I guess."  
"Okay, and I just want to say that anger is an emotion, so in a way you're doing a good thing by letting it out. All I'll say with that is there's a thin line between venting and hiding behind." Ryan said but Tyler couldn't think straight.

"So we've established that it's okay to be upset, is it okay to be sick?"  
"No."  
"Why's that?"  
"Because it's no fucking fun for anyone."  
"Expand a little?"  
"It's just, eugh, I can't explain what it feels like to want to fucking die."  
"I can safely guess, what I really meant Ty is can you expand on 'anyone'? Who's anyone to you?"  
"My, um, I mean my parents mostly? And my brothers and Maddy, but mostly Mom and Dad."  
"Right,"

"I don't like the way they get when I'm sick."  
"And how do they get?"  
"Hysterical." Tyler sighed. "They just, they get paranoid and worried and scared, I feel guilty."  
"So do you feel guilty now?"  
"Huh?"  
"Your mom, yesterday, she called me in a fit of tears that I'd probably describe as hysterical. Said she's terrified, she doesn't know how to help you, feels like everything she does is wrong, can't see the light at the end of the tunnel and doesn't think she can cope for much longer."  
"Oh," he was genuinely taken a back.

"So does it feel different? Her being upset because you're sick versus because you're perhaps struggling with aggression?"  
"I didn't, I, don't. I. When I'm sick, they're scared because I might hurt myself. I'm not gonna do that, they don't need to be scared."  
"But they are scared Tyler, they don't trust that you're not going to hurt yourself, and that's not just because of your history but it's because of your unpredictable behaviour. They're scared you're going to lash out one day and hurt someone, maybe them, maybe yourself. They're scared, and this is unfamiliar to them, they don't know the way to fix this, which is making them even more scared. They just want to help you out the deep well but can't seem to find the right ladder."

"Maybe there isn't a ladder long enough."  
"Maybe you're not making the effort to reach up?" Ryan countered whilst laying down next to him on the mattress.

"I think you think that your chances of being happy are buried with him, I think you're forgetting that other things made you happy too."  
"Like what?" He scoffed doubtfully.  
"Liiike, your teaching, you loved that. In fact your music made you happy, playing the piano, the ukulele, whatever else you felt like having a crack at. What else? Your family, you used to love going to watch Jay play basketball with all of your family by your side, or just playing or watching basketball separately. Video games make you happy, video games with your brothers make you extremely happy. Spending time with your sister, messing about at her salon and getting a mani pedi too often for anyone to believe it's just for a laugh. Spending time in the forest, maybe chasing a deer if you get the chance. You li-"  
"I get the point."

"So you understand that I'm trying to say you don't need to choose between anger and sickness, there's another road."  
"There's always more options, that's what you used to say at Campbell all the time, there's always more options."  
"Exactly. Glad to hear it was sinking in a little."

"So surely I have the option to relapse, to start cutting myself again, start saving up my pills for overdosing again."  
"Theoretically yes."  
"I'll just do that then. Thanks Ryan."  
"No you won't."  
"Why not?" Tyler laughed but it was twisted.  
"Because you want to get better, it might not be clear to you right now because your head can be a fucking awful place, we both know that, but let me just say that an outsider can see that you're making an effort."  
"Am I?"  
"Yeh, maybe subconsciously, but yeah."

"Explain that one to me then."  
"Alright, so you've got a pile of sharp edged metal in the corner of your room, and yet you haven't harmed with it. You are taking your medication every single day, maybe not on schedule - your mom knows you do that by the way - but you are taking it. You're attending group therapy every single week. You're staying in house when your parents insist rather than going rogue. You're doing things purposefully to protect your family from getting upset because you're sick, such as not having photos up. You're eating every day, you're sleeping every night, you're going on runs, you're getting dressed, you're showering, you know, you're doing okay Ty."

Tyler didn't reply straight away, thinking about what Ryan had said. Nothing was wrong, and yet, and yet he would never say that he was proactively trying to better himself.

"The missing link is doing something that makes you happy. You've been discharged from Campbell often enough to know the home integration booklet by heart. You're doing all of the things we encourage, and I'm proud of you for that Tyler, but now it's about going up to the next tier of the pyramid on the back page, it's about doing things you want to, not that you need to."  
"There's nothing I want to do though,"  
"Because it's scary?" Ryan asked and Tyler shrugged, bed sheet sticking to his shoulder blades. "It's fairly easy to keep on this path because you're getting by just fine, and you don't wanna risk jeopardising things?"  
"If, if I push myself, that's a risk. It could go wrong, I could relapse. I just. I don't wanna go back to hospital. Don't think my parents could take it."

"Soo, for example, let's say you decide to start playing the piano again, what's the risk with that? The keys not being grouped in 4s?"  
"Not that."  
"Then what?"  
"Because, urgh," he sighed, hand raising to his hair. "Because I used to play piano for Josh."  
"Oh," Ryan realised.

"Is that the reason you've stopped doing so many of the things you loved? Because they remind you of him?"  
"Yeh," Tyler admitted before adding, "I, um, it's like you said, I'm doing okay. Maybe I'm not the nicest person to be around, but I'm not self harming and I'm not having episodes, and I want to be realistic and keep that up. I think doing extra challenges, putting too much on my plate, it might push me over the edge."  
"Right,"  
"I thought, I thought my parents would prefer me like this than like I am when I let the thoughts win."

"I don't think it's that they don't like you Tyler," Ryan said a moment later. "I think they just want you to be safe and to be happy, and they're concerned you're not. Concern rather than dislike."  
"I'm not sure I'm capable of being both."  
"Both??"  
"Both happy and safe." Tyler thought aloud. "I can try and be happy, do things that made me happy, but it will remind me of Josh and one thing will lead to another and either I'll be hallucinating or I'll be cutting, or maybe both."  
"Mmm," he listened.  
"And I thought that they'd want me to prioritise safety, so I found a method that's sustainable and works. It's this, it's me, it's a miserable bitter hysteric."  
"A miserable bitter hysteric who doesn't self harm."  
"Exactly." Tyler sighed.

"If it was up to you, if you had the power to silence your voices, what would you do?"  
"I'd be happy of course."  
"But how? Would you be happy doing the things you did with Josh or for Josh, like the piano? Or do you think they would still make you upset without the influence of mental illness?"  
"Depends, is grief a mental illness?" The dark haired man asked.  
"Grief is a reaction, it's not an illness."  
"Then no, I wouldn't be happy even without depression and everything else muscling in. There's a loss that denies me access to that ability within myself."

"That's interesting Ty, you think that you have the ability to achieve happiness within you?"  
"We all do."  
"So deep down, it's still there? Despite everything?"  
"Deep deep down, buried under a lot of crap."  
"But there nevertheless." Ryan said hopefully and Tyler yawned.

"I think," he yawned again. "I think it's reachable, I just have to deal with everything on top of it."  
"And what's in the way? What's stopping you from getting to the happiness?"  
"Losing Josh."  
"Of course,"  
"OCD, depression, anxiety, schizoaffective disorder, all the gang."  
"Yeh,"  
"History."  
"History? Like your past?"  
"Yeah, lots of memories that get in the way."  
"Memories of times when you were sick?"  
"Mostly. It's a mix of such negative associations with things, like that's the cinema where I hallucinated a corpse on the seat next to me, and that's the park bench I once sat on to cut myself."  
"Yeh,"  
"Then the other extreme is the hyper positive. That's the bandstand I proposed in, that's the Ikea we spent a whole day playing hide and seek in. You know, memories that were happy but now hold too much emotional baggage."

"Would you describe your obstacles between happiness and the top of your pile as baggage?"  
"Probably."  
"See the wonderful thing about baggage is that it can be rearranged. Maybe it's a tad awkward, hauling all of the cases out of the trunk, but we can do it and we can find that small little bag at the bottom and we can move it up to the top. We can try that with your happiness? Try digging it out and putting it on top."  
"But I'm scared about poking all the other luggage, what if it bursts open. I don't want to have to deal with it again. I don't think I'm strong enough."  
"Can I guarantee that everything will stay in its case? No of course not. Do I think it's worth at least having a go at trying to find your happiness? In the end, yes."

"Can we cut the metaphorical crap?" Tyler asked.  
"Course."  
"Are you saying that I have to deal with all my other issues and then I'll find my happiness?"  
"In a way, yes,"  
"I'm not sure what way you mean, because I can't cure myself and I can't change the past and I can't bring him back."  
"Dealing doesn't necessarily mean eradicating."  
"Right."  
"Sometimes it can help an issue feel less volatile if we get to the core and to the root. For your OCD as an example, in therapy rather than being asked about why you felt you had to touch the wall four times, and you saying it was to protect your mom, you would instead talk to the therapist about why you might feel your mom specifically needs your protection and your fears and feelings towards her, and their relevance in the thoughts you have when getting compulsions."  
"Right,"

"Sometimes if you understand a condition better, if you're able to see why you do the things you do and feel the way you feel, it can make an illness seem a lot less daunting. If you have the ability to understand what's happening to you and why, to a certain extent, then it takes away the fear that comes with the unknown. It can make an illness feel less threatening sometimes, and make you less afraid of what it might do to you."  
"Mmm,"

"And obviously it's to without risks, sometimes it can be like poking the beast, and overanalysing a condition can cause an obsession or a relapse, so it's not risk free,"  
"No,"  
"You just have to decide whether you wanna take the risk."  
"What's my alternative? Stay a miserable bitter hysteric?"  
"See there's risks with that too, you can't say that you won't ever get sick again just because you're not exposing yourself to potential triggers."

"I just," Tyler paused for a second. "I just, I wish Josh was alive and I wish I never got mentally ill."  
"I agree. It's a torture that nobody should have to go through." Ryan agreed. "And I've been lucky in some senses and not so lucky in others. I've always been healthy. My brother, my big brother, he killed himself when I was 13. I didn't understand it, but when I learned more about it I vowed that I'd do everything in my power to make sure that those who struggle don't have to struggle alone. I couldn't live my life blissfully, knowing that other people don't have the luxury of stable mental health that I've randomly been blessed with. I wanted to try and make a difference, maybe even to just one person, in honour of my brother."

"Death, it's fucking weird. Grieving for my brother was horrible, and I will never lie to you Tyler and say that one day you'll wake up and just not care about Josh anymore. You'll always care about him and therefore this will always be with you. However it's up to you to decide how much of an impact his being with you will have. Are you going to let his death rule everything you do? Or are you going to take him along for the ride as you try your best to make something of the time you have here."

"I'm nothing without him," Tyler wiped a silent tear.  
"Well that's not true. You're a brother, a son, an uncle,"  
"I feel like I'm nothing without him."  
"Ah okay, there we go." Ryan acknowledged his adjustment. "So when he was here, what were you?"  
"I was something. I, I was happy, hopeful, optimistic-"  
"Tyler I met you when he was here, I met you when you were living together and I met you because you kept tying ligatures so tight that you were unconscious day in day out, and Josh and your mom came to Campbell, to me, because they thought you were going to succeed in taking your own life with the cord from your robe. Would you say that was happy or hopeful or optimistic?"

"I think the difference is that back then, maybe I couldn't always see it, but deep down I knew I had a reason to fight. Now I don't."  
"Or maybe you can't see it now either." Ryan said quietly and Tyler wiped another escaping tear. "And why can't he be your reason to fight now Tyler? Just because he might not be here in the same way doesn't mean he doesn't want to see you succeed."  
"He can't see me."  
"It can be a tad overcast in Columbus, but I reckon the view from Heaven is still pretty darn good."

"Do you believe in Heaven Tyler?" He asked a moment later. "In an afterlife or angels, guardian angels even?"  
"I'm not sure,"  
"Right,"  
"I like to tell myself that I don't, but I think a small part of me still does."  
"Why do you like to tell yourself that you don't?"  
"Because if I admit to myself that I think it's real then I admit to myself that I've been acting the way I have with full knowledge and awareness that Josh will be watching."  
"And that means?"  
"That I've been disappointing him."

"Why do you think he'd be or he is disappointed?"  
"Because," Tyler stopped to take a shaky breath that he'd forgotten about earlier. "Because he wants more for me than this, because he knows that I can do better than this, because he appreciated my potential and will be upset that I've ended up like this."  
"Ended up?" Ryan questioned. "Is this the end?"  
"No,"  
"So there's still time to change? To improve your situation?"  
"Yes."  
"That means there's still time to make him proud Tyler."  
"There's still time." He whispered to himself (and to Josh).

"And if you're having a moment where you're doubting your faith and your Heaven, use the picture. Keep the picture up, keep him up there and you'll keep being reminded that he's watching you and you need to be fulfilling your potential to actually be happy and content. For him. For his memory, for his angel form, for his legacy through you. He might be finished here, you're not."

 

 

  
"Mom?" Tyler's voice cracked as he tried to raise it above a whisper, sweater paws in place of hands and soft fluffy socks pulled up past his ankles as he crept into the living room at just gone 11pm. She was sat on the couch with a glass of wine, knitting yet more matching outfits for Maddy's twins.

"Poppet? Everything okay?"  
"No, no not really," he shook his head. "Could I maybe sit with you for a moment?"  
"For as long as you'd like." She nodded, continuing to hold her needles in one hand but quickly moving her patterns and her balls of wool off the space next to her and onto the floor, letting Tyler tread softly across the carpet then climb up effortlessly, one knee bending and staying closer to his chest, the other leg wrapping around him ever so slightly for stability.

"Did you have a nice nap?"  
"I, I didn't, I um, I was praying Mom,"  
"Praying? Oh okay darling, and how was that?"  
"It was good, yeah, good actually." He nodded. "I, um, I was trying to talk to Josh."  
"Josh?" She seemed surprised, putting down her knitting, and he nodded.  
"Yeah, you know, just to check in with him, ask for a bit of help maybe?"  
"Okay baby, and how did it go?"  
"Good, really good." A small smile crept onto his lips and a huge one formed on hers.

"I didn't hear him, I couldn't hear him, but I felt him? You know? Like I could feel he was listening if that makes sense?"  
"It makes perfect sense, I feel the same way when I pray for him."  
"You do it too?"  
"Every day." She nodded and he smiled softly. Josh hadn't been completely ignored all these months.

"Thank you for inviting Ryan today."  
"It helped then? Talking to him?"  
"A lot." Tyler admitted. "I was hoping, maybe, he could come back again some time soon?"  
"We already arranged that he's coming for dinner on Saturday."  
"Perfect." The final syllable was lost to the quietness of his exhausted voice.

"Also,"  
"Yes sweetheart?" She reached across and picked up his hand, holding it loosely.  
"Could you maybe call Dr Wakefield in the morning?"  
"Absolutely I could. And what would I be saying to him?"  
"Seeing whether, uh, whether he's got any availability?"  
"For a phone call with you? Or an appointment?"  
"An appointment, yeah, a proper appointment. Maybe a regular slot? Like every other week to start?"  
"You want to start going to individual therapy again?" She shock on her face was obvious.  
"I think so."  
"I'm so proud of you Tyler, so proud." A long kiss was planted on his forehead.

"I'm really sorry Mom."  
"For what baby?"  
"For, for, well you know,"  
"For grieving? You don't need to apologise for that Tyler."  
"For being ungrateful and rude and just generally difficult. For upsetting you all the time and for never appreciating the things you've done to try and get me through these past few years."  
"Tyler you don't-"  
"Please don't dismiss this Mom, I'm, I'm trying to properly apologise. Whether I was entirely in control or not, I am sorry for how I've treated you."  
"And I'm sorry that I couldn't always give you the answers you wanted to hear." She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. "I'm sorry you lost him."

"We lost him." Tyler decided it was okay to share him with her, okay to admit that he cared about other people too.  
"We did, but together we can figure out a way to make this work. We can get through this, yeah?"  
"Yeah," he moved a little so he could rest his head on her chest, and she wrapped an arm around his back and then kissed him on top of his hair.

"Working together? Sound okay?"  
"Sounds nice." Tyler hummed against her warm body.  
"Anything you need, Dad and I will sort. If you need therapy again, we'll sort it, if you need any sort of safety plans then we can put them in place, if you want your meds to be looked at then a psychiatrist appointment can be made, if you want to move out then maybe, just maybe, we can sit down and properly talk about a realistic method to get from point a to point b, and decide whether we think it can happen safely and how we can ensure that it remains safe for you. Okay?"  
"Thanks Mom, but, uh, but I don't want to move out just yet. Maybe a little while longer? Just till I know I can process things without relapsing."  
"Tyler you can stay here as long as you want, forever if you wish."  
"One day, one day I do want to move out and start having a life of my own, but one day in the distant future. For now I just, I want to figure out how to cope with having a life on my own, then we'll look at of my own."

"I love you Tyler."  
"I love you too." He briefly lifted his head from her chest and kissed her.

"If we're gonna do this Ty, if we're gonna be a team..."  
"Then it can't just be you giving and me taking."  
"Essentially." She nodded.  
"I know it's hard for you guys too, with me being a dick but with losing him as well."  
"You haven't been a douche Tyler, you just, you've lost your way, and I understand. I feel like spiralling sometimes as well and it's only because of your father that I've been able to keep functioning. I can't imagine what this has done to you, and I'm proud of how well you have coped."

"I'm, I'm," he stammered. "I'm not harming, or hallucinating, or obsessing much,"  
"I know darling, I know,"  
"No, what I was gonna say is that I know I've not been doing those things, but I know that I can do better still."  
"Mmm," she rested her lips against his head, letting him speak.  
"I can be nicer to you Mom,"  
"Tyler!" Mom laughed a little, and he looked up to see there were tears in her eyes.

"What?"  
"Nothing,"  
"Mom, what?"  
"It's just, you're amazing darling. Even after everything? Everything you've been through, you're still concerned with manners."  
"It's not manners though Mom, it's respect." Tyler explained softly. "I, I have so much respect for you, so much, and, um, and sometimes something in my head stop me from showing you. You always treat me with such respect, even when I'm so broken and so sick and so immersed in these fake realities, you respect me enough to listen and to care."  
"Of course I listen, of course I care. You're my son Tyler, and that's one thing that won't ever change." Her lips found his crown again.

"Mom,"  
"Yes darling?"  
"Tomorrow, can we go through the photo albums together? Choose some to frame for my room and just for around the house?"  
"Photos of Josh?"  
"Photos of Josh."  
"I would love nothing more than to do that with you baby." She seemed happy in spite of her tears.

"I want," he paused for a moment. "I want him to have a presence here again."  
"Okay."  
"When I prayed, I felt like he was here again, I felt embraced and surrounded. I want to feel like that all the time."  
"Tyler I get what you're saying baby, I do, I'm just cautious that we don't create an environment that is so embracing that you feel trapped. Because right now you're doing great, amazing in fact, and I'm so unbelievably impressed, but what if tomorrow or a few days time, you have a lull in this mindset and you're surrounded by an upsetting reminder of him. I don't want you to get worked up and for that to have repercussions."

"What do I do Mom?"  
"I'm not quite sure baby," she sighed honestly, stroking his hair.  
"He'd probably know."  
"Oh I'm quite sure of that. Maybe we should pray tomorrow and ask him for advice? For help?"  
"Can we do it together?"  
"Of course." Another kiss. "We'll get through this together, you, me, Dad,"  
"With Josh watching over us," he whispered.

"This family is going to be okay Tyler, and Josh will always be a part of this family, no matter where he might be. I know that a small piece of him is snug safe in my heart, and I'll treasure that forever and always,"  
"So will I," Tyler let out a breath he didn't realise he was withholding, and Mom somehow found a way to hold him even closer, "So will I."


End file.
